


Still Waters Run Deep

by Serenhawk



Series: The Cockles Digest [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bath Sex, Cockles, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, Jensen POV, Jensen muses a lot, M/M, Meandering conversation, Polyamory, Schmoop, a ton of implicit schmoop, fluff overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenhawk/pseuds/Serenhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Misha's 40th birthday and while Jensen can't help celebrate it as he'd like to, he improvises. Besides there's also the matter of that damn bath...</p><p> </p><p>Set in the week where we had first Misha's Ice Bucket Challenge, his birthday and then VanCon.</p><p>This is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended to those whose names are used. I'm no longer sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Waters Run Deep

 

  _Many thanks to Khara, Emmy and Rach for the conversations that fed into this. I would have had this up long before now if not for the flailapalooza of the past few weeks. Misha, Dmitri & Sergei have not helped._

_I completely over-indulged in the fluffy banter with this one. When these two are happy they do not shut up. Seriously._

_It was going to be concise fluff, but then smut happened. And a LOT more fluff. With a generous seasoning of schmoop. (The sex is in the middle if you are just after the porn)_

 

_*******************************_

 

Jensen was sitting on the couch in his trailer enjoying a long break through which he was struggling to stay awake when his spidey-senses tingled. It happened that way sometimes - he'd be happily preoccupied when a stray thought or even just a 'feeling' of _Misha_  would seep through him heralding his arrival in some way. It was both comforting and a little freaky.

Sure enough a few seconds later his phone began to buzz beside his thigh. 'Here we go,' he thought ruefully, picking it up to see Misha's contact lighting the screen. He'd never entered his name, just ‘M’ and a completely idiotic photograph he’d taken one day.

He didn’t have an excess of photos eating up the memory in his phone, of anyone. Ironically, for someone whose job is knowing how to utilize a camera (from both sides) and spending half his life in front of them, he just wasn't a snap-happy guy, preferring to hold his memories and impressions in his head. To be quite honest he thought the world’s online stratosphere or whatever must be completely cluttered with the irrelevant and insignificant details of people’s lives. He’d always been economical, with everything; why use ten words when you could mean the same thing with three? Same with photographs – one picture could mean a thousand words, but ten pictures of the same thing ended up making the subject wallpaper to scroll past rather than an object to savor or sentimentalize.

Though he had to admit this philosophy didn’t apply to JJ. If Danneel had taken hundreds of photos during the weeks he was away he could happily peruse them several times over when he returned. There was no such thing as too many digitally caught moments of his daughter and he couldn’t envision a day when that would change.

But there were certainly not many images of Misha, no matter how tempted he was at times to add to them. His friends knew better than to try and look through his phone, but he was often scrolling through his galleries with other people showing off baby or family pictures, and even one or two out of context photos of the man with whom he was in a (mostly) clandestine relationship would stick out like a sore thumb. Or at least he thought so even if maybe he was a little paranoid about it. Besides, by now Misha was under his skin, in the blood pumping through his heart, grafted onto his very DNA – he didn’t need keepsakes to be reminded of him.

When Misha did call him he couldn’t help but indulge in a brief study of the image he had collected. When he’d asked, offhandedly, for a photo for his phone contact Misha had, predictably, lunged at him whilst flipping him the bird and doing something vulgar with his tongue. Which in a way was perfect, because to anyone who might see it was just yet another captured moment of Misha being Misha, but to him it was an image full of small but significant triggers.

His friend’s near constant state of momentum for one; while something deep within him craved the precious quiet moments with Misha more and more, it was the sheer irrepressibility of spirit that shined through nearly everything he did that drew a slow tide of wonder and affection over Jensen. Of course he knew full well there were times when Misha was sensitive and guarded, and when he second-guessed himself. But his ability to just throw it all away, roll with the moment and take everyone else along for the ride affected Jensen in a way that was both spellbinding and uncomfortable, since he was seldom able to do the same.

Secondly, there was the tongue. Not much needed to be spelled out about that, other than (in his experience) it was quite accomplished.

And then there was his hand - what was technically a profane gesture Jensen now found obscene for wholly different reasons. In fact his is eyes would gravitate to Misha’s hands now almost as frequently as they’d always had to his mouth. He never knew he could find someone else’s hands so goddamn erotic, but from his elegantly turned wrists to the freakishly long bones in his fingers they’d become something of a distraction. He’d also had no idea someone’s knuckles could be a complete turn-on until recently and he didn’t know what was to be done about it now. Part of it was a full and intimate appreciation for all the amazing things those hands could accomplish that turned the dial for him, but they were also just things of lovely movement and proportion and _FUCK_ _he really had lost it._

Right, he’d better answer this.

When he’d called to wish Misha a happy birthday his friend hadn’t picked up, but knowing he tended to ignore his cell when he was at home he’d next tried their house. Misha had been out with the kids but he’d got Vicki, and before telling her to let him know he’d called, he _may_ have said something to her about the merits of filming her husband naked in the bath for him to then put in the internet. So he fully anticipated some blowback now.

Not that the prospect would put him off answering the call. There had only been a few times he’d ever avoided Misha; when things had gotten out of hand and their collective shit had come between them. Like the time he’d been freaking out about realizing he was basically in love with him and his whole world had tilted in its axis. But even on the rare occasions when they were infuriated with each other or suffering near-terminal emotional constipation, he still felt a small flush of elation when they made contact, whatever form that took.

He slid his thumb to pick up the call.

“Hey,” he answered brightly.

“Hey back. Did you have something to tell me?”

“Yeah I did. I wanted to commiserate you on being middle aged.”

“Thank you, I think. As effusive as ever aren’t you?”

“Well I don’t want to let on that I love you or anything and give you a big head.”

Misha’s chuckle echoed down the line. “Are you alluding to my enviable, ah, calibre? Because you're welcome to assist with that at any time, since you love me."

Jensen huffed. Misha was unable to pass up even the slimmest opportunity wring out sexual innuendo. “I wasn't in the ballpark of any such allusion. I hate to break it to you but not everything is about your dick. Which is my point. Big head.”

There was a lull in the conversation that was _definitely_ nothing to do with him thinking any thoughts relating in any way whatsoever to performing oral sex.

Misha broke the short silence. “So why the snarky comment to Vic? She said you sounded… upset.”

“She did? Huh.” Jensen was a little taken aback. He hadn’t meant to. “You know your wife’s crazier than you are. And she needs to work on her shot set up - you were, um, over exposed.”

His friend laughed again. “How many times have you watched it?”

“Couple,” he dismissed, shrugging to no-one.

“There’s probably gifs out there by now,” Misha said in a musing tone.

“What? What’s a giff?”

“Umm, it’s a… nevermind. You’ll find out soon enough. They’re probably complimentary!”

“Great,” he said, with more than a hint of disdain.

“You’re very protective of my modesty. I’m touched.”

“Yeah you’re a little too touched.” _In the head_ he added to himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Misha asked.

“Ah, nothing. Next time take more than that stupid green... whatever. It didn’t do a good enough job.”

“So you’re mad at an inflatable toy now?”

Jensen sighed in defeat. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

His friend was chuckling again. “I thought I was the crazy one.”

“Oh you’re bat-shit, but you make me crazy.”

“I’ll take that both as a compliment and a victory!”

Jensen shook his head. There was no way to win. He went to volunteer as much but Misha interrupted him.

“You mad I called you out? You know I can do it myself… record it, then I can warm you up afterwards,” his friend suggested - suggestively of course.

He let out a short snicker. “No. Yes! Maybe—“

“Uh-huh. That clears that up.”

Jensen thought for a moment. “I’m not mad you did. But I don’t know why you had to include inferences about dick size.”

“Oh, now I get it.” Misha accused.

“You do huh?”

“Uh-hmm, this is one of your machismo things.”

“No! What?”

“If you want me to confirm how impressive your cock is Jen I can tweet it right n—“

“You’re such a shit.” He broke in. “You would too.”

“Eh, nobody would take my confirmation seriously.”

“You bet your scrawny ass they wouldn’t. How many people follow you? A million? – I’m sure at least some of them are under the illusion you can be taken seriously.”

“It’s one and a half million, thank you very much – give or take.”

“Oh yeah, size doesn’t matter, right—“ he threw back, jeering.

He could almost hear the eye roll on the other end of the phone. He was not going to admit the real reason he was irritated with Misha for posting the clip. He would have, as usual, been blissfully unaware of it had Jared not made it his business to make him aware of it. Yeah, he was jealous, but it wasn’t having Misha’s tanned lithe body stretched out on show for the internet that was the crux.

Misha tacked the conversation. “Since when is my ass scrawny?”

“It’ll be scrawny when I’ve finished beating the crap out of it.”

“Oooh, baby. Are you going get rough with me?”

“You are—“ Jensen paused unwisely while he searched for the right adjective.

“-Supremely intelligent… criminally good looking… fucking perfect—“

“Incorrigible,” he finished, with feeling.

Misha giggled before resuming. “Anyway, that was a serious question. We haven’t tried that.”

Jensen took a moment to reflect on a sudden array of possibilities. “Hmm” was all he could offer.

“I can hear you thinking, this is a positive sign,” his friend quipped.

Jensen ignored the thinly veiled insult to plow on with the real reason he wanted to talk to Misha.

“So, uh, when do you get up here?” he asked.

“Thursday morning, why?”

“Can you switch it to tomorrow instead?”

“Probably. What’s the occasion?” his friend asked, suspicious.

“I just want to do something with you,” he answered, vaguely embarrassed.

“Umm, okay?“

“Just— can you be here tomorrow night or not?”

“Yes, I can Jen,” Misha placated gently. “Going to fill me in at some point?”

“Sure, I’ll text you the details,” he said, satisfied finally he could put his plan into action, as lame as it was.

“Alright then. Well I guess I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Jensen swiped fondly.

“You know the prospect of your company makes my ample bosom heave with anticipation.”

“Now that’s an image I really didn’t fuckin’ need,” he didn’t hesitate to point out, scrubbing a hand over his forehead. He’d been through enough adjustments over Misha’s sex without being thrown for random loops like imagining him with breasts. That was just confusing, and totally uncalled for. But then it’s not like he (and the whole world, more than once) hadn’t seen Misha in full drag so it shouldn’t be that much of a leap and oh _for fucks sake_ , now his brain was trying to rationalize the thought of him with some impressive E cups as acceptable. 

It was these kinds of moments that made him reflect on the life choices that led to meeting Misha Collins. He'd been fatally compromised with wackadoo. “Weirdo,” he added, forlornly passing the buck.

His friend was letting out a hearty laugh this time. Probably envisioning him envisioning it, Jensen brooded.

“So,” Misha finally said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m intrigued now.”

Jensen wasn’t going to give anything away just yet. “Okay, good. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. Later then.”

“See you. And Mish—“

“Yeah?”

“Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you, Jensen,” his friend answered warmly. “Do I get my gift tomorrow?”

“Nah, that’s in the mail. This is… something else,” he assured.

Misha hummed his enthusiasm. “Can’t wait. Bye-bye.”

“Bye. Oh, and say sorry to Vic for me? I didn’t mean to weird her out.” He was starting to feel a little bashful about it.

“No problem. I think she was more amused.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he winced. Vicki seemed to take everything in her stride and he got the feeling he was frequently a source of mirth, if that goddamn fucking short was anything to go by. One day he’d get his own back for that, once he worked out how.

“’See ya Jen,” his friend signed off again.

“Later. Have a good one, okay?” he delayed, reluctant now. He let his eyes shut and nestled deeper in the couch.

“I will, I’m old now, I’m taking it easy,” Misha said, finishing in a yawn as if to illustrate the fact.

“Sounds like you'd better. Tap a nap – your mobility scooter might have arrived by the time you wake uu—“ The last word was swallowed in a yawn of his own, contagious as they were. “Up,” he finally finished.

“Pots and kettles, my friend,” Misha observed.

“Hm, sorry.”

“Going to be a long day? _You_ should take a nap.”

“I wish I could. Wish I could take one with you,” he said blurrily, with unusual candour.

Misha didn’t make fun of him though, as he thought he might. “That would be nice,” his friend returned simply.

And easy silence followed, broken eventually by the other man. “Jen?” Misha asked lowly.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have your hand down your pants do you?”

“No. Want me to?”

“Do it,” was the unequivocal reply in the tone that instantly re-routed his brain circuitry.

“I will if you will,” he bargained, already sliding his palm under Dean’s waistband. He wasn’t aroused, but drowsily slouching with Misha’s voice rumbling in his ear, he definitely could be persuaded.

Misha sighed. “I would, but I’m sitting out here in the sun in full view of my family. It's PG tops for me I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Isn’t it though,” Misha returned, regret coloring his tone.

“Probably for the best,” Jensen sighed this time. “I’m going to get a call soon and chances are I’d be half way through jerking off, leaving Dean with a problem.”

“I doubt if the camera picked it up anyone would see it as a problem.”

“Just because you don’t mind putting your dick on show doesn’t mean I do,” Jensen pointed out.

“You wimp. I was in a fucking bath of ice. What do you think that did to me?”

“I know, you fucking talked about it, remember?”

“Clearly I’m more secure in my manhood,” Misha concluded.

“Yeah well, who’s bringing up masculinity now, Mr Hypocrite?” Jensen accused back without venom, still lazily fondling himself.

“Touche,”

They lapsed into a pause again.

“Jen?” Misha asked for a second time.

“Yeah?” Jensen echoed.

“One of us has to hang up you know.”

Jensen huffed. “Yep.”

“Are you still touching?”

“Yeah,” said Jensen, adjusting himself.

“Good boy,” drawled Misha.

And _oh fuck_ if that didn’t make his sluggish dick prick up its metaphorical ears. Jensen released a frustrated growl, Misha answering with a sly chuckle. Even the self-satisfaction emanating from it did nothing to stop the blood channelling to his cock. It probably made it worse.

“I want you to do something Jensen,” his friend said, the timbre curling along his nerves. “Every time you hear the slate snap today, I want you to think of me saying those two words in your ear.”

Jensen groaned again, instantly imagining the complaints about the dailies, and the fact he'd to be constantly repressing a hard-on during his coverage meant he was also probably going to end up doing more takes which meant the slate was going to get overused and _shit._ “You’re fucking evil, you know that?” he whined.

“That may be, but you love it.”

Jensen just made a scornful noise at the back of his throat. Clearly some traitorous part lodged deep in his brain did, if not love it, like it very (disconcertingly, aggravatingly and damn inconveniently) much.

“I’m going to go now. I’ll leave you to it. Be good for me,” Misha finished in a growled whisper.

“Fuck you,” Jensen breathed back.

“Well, there’s always tomorrow! Bye. And thanks for the birthday wish.”

The line went dead, and Jensen was left cursing his life choices for the second time inside ten minutes.

 

*****************

 

The following afternoon Jensen had escaped work in good time and made it back into town, had a shower, changed, grabbed a bag and headed the few blocks to the Fairmont. When he’d sent Misha the details the previous evening his friend hadn’t badgered him with questions as he’d anticipated, merely confirming he’d understood Jensen’s instructions of where to come and make sure he use the private check-in for directions using their standard booking pseudonyms. He’d advised the desk he was going to have a visitor and was patiently waiting in the room, studying the lowering sun dancing on the water far below and noting how he really should have had something to eat before now. He was trying to decide whether he should put in an extra order for room service when he heard a knock on the door.

It was ridiculous, but he actually had a miniature bevy of butterflies low in his chest. Not because he was nervous to see Misha, but he felt like a dork for doing this and hoped his friend wouldn’t reach the same conclusion despite both of them knowing full well exactly who the established dork was in this relationship.

The knock turned out to be the room delivery, and because of the faint nerves and hunger he decided he’d open the wine and pick at the fruit while he was waiting. The cold alcohol hitting his empty stomach was comforting and he was putting his feet up when there was a second knock.

Misha walked in with nothing but a smile to offer while he inspected the room – it was a huge corner suite so it took a few minutes. Jensen just stood with his arms folded, surveying him quietly as he poked about like a bird exploring a new nest. Eventually the other man shrugged off his blazer and leaned on a chair, giving him a quizzical look.

“So, what’s the occasion? I’m still in the dark,” Misha prompted.

“Well—” Jensen started vaguely. “It was your birthday and I couldn’t see you, and I just wanted to _do_ something. We can never, ya know, go away or anything, not just us anyway, and I really just wanted to be somewhere, with you, that wasn’t work or home, and just… I don’t know, pretend,” he concluded with a shrug of affected ambivalence.

Misha cocked his head and gave him a bemused grin. “So you picked a hotel in Downtown on the day there will be hundreds of fans will be checking into the city for the weekend? You’ve finally decided to live life on the edge.”

Jensen gave him a shy smile in return. “Like I said it’s your birthday, but I’m working, you’re booked from tomorrow… I can’t whisk you away anywhere. Besides I doubt any of them will be staying up here.”

Misha nodded sceptically and looked over Jensen’s shoulder. “Nice view, I must say. Of course your apartment has a pretty good view too,” he pointed out, raising his brows.

“Not quite this good. And this place has something neither mine nor yours has.”

“What?” his friend asked thoughtfully, pursing his lips.

“A huge motherfucking bath,” he stated dramatically.

“Uh-ha, now I get it. You have bath-envy,” Misha grinned back at him.

“What the hell is bath envy?” he asked somewhat derisively, before softening. “I just realised we’ve never taken a bath together, and seeing you— I guess I just kinda thought it was something we should do. Immediately, if not… right now,” he finished, breaking into an abashed grin.

Misha just looked at him like he was trying to work out an obscure puzzle, before abruptly turning tail and walking to the luxuriously fitted bathroom. Jensen waited patiently for him to return, which he did slyly casting his eyes around the room again.

“Did you bring the candles?” he asked, to which Jensen merely nodded. Misha gestured to the bottles on ice and sumptuous fruit platter. “You didn’t order the romance package did you?”

“Ha! Do you see any rose petals?”

Misha grinned broadly at him. “You wanna go back out the door so you can carry me over the threshold?”

“Oh fuck off, it’s not like that!” he pouted. “Not really, but anyway so what?”

His friend laughed with gentle glee as he stepped towards him to cup his jaw with both hands and bestow a European style kiss on each cheek. “I’m sorry,” he appeased, not letting go. “It’s very sweet, and you’re fucking delightful.”

“Of course I am,” Jensen agreed. “Now are you done with the twenty questions?”

“Yes, I believe so. Going to pour me a drink?” his friend asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Jensen said, genuinely relieved. He relaxed and unfolded his arms, circling them around Misha’s back. He hadn’t realised just how tense he was until now, and finally having his… his _Misha_ right where he needed him; those long erudite fingers touching his face where (if he were honest) he craved them more than anywhere else for reasons that were lost to him, and having him secured inside his embrace, all made him unwind right to his core.

“If I was trying to be romantic I wouldn’t have started without you,” he pointed out, ever the pragmatist.

“Well catch me up so we can go have that bath, and then we can lie about in fluffy robes while you hand-feed me strawberries.”

Jensen chuckled. “See, you’re on board with this too, don’t deny it.”

“I seldom deny anything. I prefer the fertile petri dish of ambiguity.”

“You say the _weirdest_ things.”

“Well that wou—“

“Mish,” he interrupted. “Shuddup.”

His friend parted his mouth to say something else but Jensen cut him off with a kiss. He’d wanted to do it since Misha arrived, and deciding they’d done more than enough talking for now he threw himself into it, squeezing one forearm behind Misha’s ribs and the other across his hips to uncompromisingly draw him in. Misha didn’t seem to mind being trapped, locking his fingers behind Jensen’s neck.

“Point taken,” his friend breathed once he finally pulled back. Jensen let a smirk take up residence before he let his arms fall and turned to pour Misha a drink and refill his own.

He handed Misha the glass and raised his. “Here’s to entering your fifth decade,” he proposed with a winsome smile.

“Shit, when you put it like that,” his friend grumbled, taking a sip then a long gulp. “I shouldn’t be having this. Not after last night. But fuck it,” Misha dismissed.

“Big night was it?”

“No, not really.” His friend shrugged. “Just aiming for longevity.” He stared into his glass before fixing him with a direct look. “I missed you,” he added.

Jensen’s heart billowed with affection. He took a step forward, braced Misha’s head and nosed into his hair. “Me too,” he said softly. “But I’ve got you now,” he added with feigned malevolence.

“Oh you’ve had me for a long time,” Misha returned flippantly, leaning into him. “Just neither of us knew it.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffed, “we knew it. We just… couldn’t see the wood for the trees.” He counted the seconds until Misha picked up and ran with his not so innocent double-entendre.

Misha snorted lightly. “Well now we don’t seem to suffer any wood shortages, which is a revelation in itself.”

Jensen pulled back and shook his head. “You’re getting predictable in your old age.”

His friend stepped away pretending to glare at him, and Jensen felt quite pleased with himself for having the last word.

Misha downed the rest of his glass and smacked his lips. “So we going to take our impending wood to this giant motherfucking bath or what?”

Jensen followed suit with the remainder of his drink. “Yeah, lets do that. Pour me another while I go run it,” he ordered, putting down his glass and turning around. “And eat lots of that pineapple!” he threw back over his shoulder.

He heard his friend let out a laugh of approval. “I’m taking that as a promise!” Misha’s voiced trailed as he rounded the corner into the marbled room. He perched on the tiled edge, dropped the plug and started the taps. It really was a big bath.

He wasn’t a bath kind of guy, he never had been. In fact he can’t remember the last time he had one - probably before JJ was born when he and Danni were on vacation. This is definitely an exception.

But then _everything_ to do with Misha was an exception. More than once he'd contemplated sending Kripke a gift basket with complimentary hate mail for bringing Misha into his life. He’d been a problem from day one – all odd and charmingly insane and eerily perceptive, like he’d arrived as a one man sleeper-cell to hone in on Jensen and make him question everything he knew. And _cute._ He recognized attractive men, sometimes in more ways than one, but he’d never really thought of Misha as good looking (although he supposed he was). He was always just Misha, with his own brand of all encompassing 'Mishaness'. It was something he would have wanted to gift wrap and give to everyone he cared about if he didn’t, in truth, covet it all for himself. But Misha was adorable in the truest sense of the word, and he never really said that about anyone in his life. Not unless they had paws.

Even his goddamn name. In fact Jensen was quite sure he wouldn’t have inexplicably fallen for him if he was named something mundane, like Tom, or... Jared. Ick. But the fact Mr I’m-here-to-fucking-turn-your-life-upside-down Adorable had a name that the physical act of saying it made your mouth pull up at the corners inviting a smile was another nail in the coffin containing everything he thought he’d known about friendship and sex and monogamy. And Love.

The surprising thing he’d noticed lately, was _he was okay with that._ It had taken time, the odd neurotic freak-out, a lot of soul-searching and analysis, and a fair few conversations in the dark with Misha, or just himself. And his wife - she'd recognized the thrall Misha had him in early on. He knew now that while she'd had to go through her own adjustments with it she'd never really felt threatened. Confused maybe but not endangered. 

He’d known Misha nearly as long as he and Danni had been serious, and he’d grown with both of them. He thought he’d worked out what it meant to be a husband, was just beginning to glimpse the true meaning of fatherhood, but Misha had been affecting him the whole time he realized now, in a myriad of subtle ways; emboldening him, nurturing and challenging him. There was a fuck-ton of challenging, and he’d resisted much of it – while he considered himself open to learning about himself (it was good for the trade, after all) he preferred it to be on _his_ terms. Well truth be told he preferred everything to be on his terms. But Misha had never made any allowances for that, holding up mirrors when he least expected it. It made him bullish, even now, though he’d learned to live with the discomfort. Because amongst the rewards was freedom.  

And now? He felt a curious mixture of being both grown up for the first time in his life, but also more like a kid than he had in a long time, instead of just pretending to be one. He supposed it was because he was happy. Really happy. Not _all_ the time; there were always going to be silos in his mind faithfully storing his personal crap and leeching unease, and there was a permanent contained part of himself that felt under pressure. But overall, at least for now, the gauges were turned way down and he felt as shiny as a new dime. He felt _loved_ , though that wasn't an easy admission.

It was one thing to love, but being loved by someone who’d chosen you was much harder - intimidating even, and when that was coming from two distinct sources it sometimes felt like a torrent. But there were days when he allowed himself to really feel it, bask in it even. He caught himself analysing his wacky friendship with Misha far too much, half expecting the wackier ‘affair’ (for want of a better term) they’d entered into to evolve, or worse erode the close rapport on which it was founded. But it hadn’t; they were still the same as they’d always been, just with added cuddling, and an anchoring pile of emotion driven deep into his bedrock. And of course some broadening of his sexual horizons.  It nagged at him sometimes, the knowledge that one day the job would end and indulging himself like this with Misha wouldn’t be so… convenient. But he figured they’d find another way.

“Are you done yet?” Misha’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t seen him appear in the doorway.

“It is a big bath,” he reiterated by way of explanation, testing the temperature and turning off the faucet.

“No bubbles?” his friend asked.

“Bubbles are for girls,” he declared, standing up. He removed the full glasses Misha had arrived with from his hold and deposited them on the wide marble surround. “Besides,” he said, reaching for his friend’s shirt hem, “I wanna see you, in all your glory.” He yanked Misha’s t-shirt over his head and arms.

“I’m on board with that idea,” Misha agreed after a moment. “I am glorious,” he grinned, hooking fingers into Jensen’s pants. He pulled him closer and Jensen had his in own shirt removed in the same way.

“Mind you, you’re something to behold yourself at the moment,” his friend continued, sliding the pads of his fingers from Jensen's collarbone in a meandering path to his waist. He shivered – he’d never get tired of Misha touching him like that and it was still a surprise. It made him want to grab him and mould every square inch of their skin together.

Misha shuffled forward so they were nose to nose, and began removing Jensen’s jeans. He had that look in his eye, warm but utterly uncompromising that instantly grounded him. He helped slide his clothes to the floor and stepped out of them, brushing them aside with one foot before catching his friend’s hands as they worked at his belt. “Let me?” he asked, pulling them aside.

Misha pulled his face sideways, unfairly suspicious, but Jensen simply leaned forward to nuzzle under the hinge of his jaw. “This is about you, get used to it,” he growled softly, dotting the area under his ear with his mouth while unzipping his fly. He pushed the pants down and bent to free his friend from them.

“Isn’t it always about me?” Misha asked innocently as Jensen rose, fanning his thumbs over his friend’s groin and hips.

“Yes, Mish, if that’s what keeps you warm at night,” he returned, rolling his eyes.

“I much prefer you keeping me warm at night.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” his friend asked, arching a brow.

“Flattery, and lube,” he qualified with a wink.

Misha dissolved in a fit of giggles, bowing his head.

“It wasn’t that good a joke. What’s so funny?” he quizzed.

“Irony, Jensen. Beautiful irony,” Misha stuttered, lifting Jensen’s hands aside with his own and stepping back as if to examine him. He got the distinct impression he was being laughed at and frowned accordingly, before giving up. Yet again.

“Just get in the damn bath, shithead,” he ordered, snatching his hands back.

Still smiling broadly Misha obeyed. Jensen turned to flick the light and remembered the couple of candles he’d improvised. He’d been half way down the elevator when he realized he needed to go back get something to light them with, so he was determined to use them however clichéd. Candlelight and baths just went together he reasoned, whatever the occasion.

He settled down at the other end, bracketing Misha’s legs. It was wide, deep and square; generous enough to be comfortable for two men clearing six foot, which had led him to choosing the location. Lifting one of Misha’s feet he began a massage – it was a soft spot his friend had and he was happy to indulge to it, Misha tipping his head back and grunting in appreciation. “This is infinitely more pleasant than the last bath I took,” he observed eventually, running a wet hand through his hair and making it scruff up in that way that instantly made him appear rakish.

“That was the whole idea,” Jensen pointed out, swapping feet and thumbing under the toes.

“It was a good one,” Misha agreed, eyes shut and nodding. “I still think there’s more to it than that though,” he said after a minute has passed.

“Like what?” Jensen prodded.

His friend sat forward and manoeuvred himself around to lean backwards on Jensen’s front. He didn’t mind one bit.

“You sure you weren’t just a tiny bit jealous?” Misha asked.

Jensen considered his answer, ghosting blunted nails down the outside of Misha’s arms.

“You want me to be?” he finally asked in return.

“No! Well, yeah, who wouldn’t. But I’m just curious, for purely scientific reasons.”

“So I _am_ just a project huh?” he admonished, albeit benevolently.

“Yes, it’s research for my PhD in corrupting rampantly heterosexual SAG members.”

That raised his hackles a little. “What do you mean ‘rampantly’ heterosexual,” he asked back.

“Jen you’re so heterosexual it hurts,” Misha answered gently, threading their fingers together under the water.

“And that’s supposed to be an insult? Besides, aren’t you? Despite needing to kiss everyone. And grope them. And flirt with...actually, nevermind," he finished, humor shaded with unease.

“Ha! Hmm,” Misha answered noncommittally, and Jensen could tell he was deflecting. “No insult, just an observation. You do tend to wear it on your sleeve,” he eventually added.

Jensen tried to figure out what the hell Misha was getting at, and withholding, and whether or not he should be offended either way. The whole topic was moot anyway, as far he was concerned, letting it go. They can fill in any concealed blanks another time. This is only ever about them, here and now.

“I’m sorry,” his friend said after a few moments. “I’m being facetious.”

“You do realize this is an absurd argument for us to be having at this time,” he said, emphasizing the point by using their linked right hands to cup Misha’s over his own distended testes. Warm water was a man’s best friend.

“Mmm, fair point,” his friend mumbled. Jensen squeezed Misha’s fingers under his and drew them along his flaccid cock, forcing a tug. Misha sunk against him, nestling down and lying his head against Jensen’s clavicle as he continued to pet Misha’s hand along himself. He looked down over his friend’s shoulder and could see him swelling, his own member reflecting in a twitch against the small of Misha’s back. A flow of urgency made him brush Misha’s hand aside to replace it with his own, jacking him with a firm slow grip, his friend still while he trailed his free hand in a circuit along Misha’s arm and up his chest.

“I hope you’re not falling asleep on me. Literally,” he asked softly after a few minutes of silence.

“You are causing a conflict. Above my waist I want to doze off, but below wants drag you out and fuck you into the bed.”

Jensen surfed a wave of arousal. “Why move to the bed?” he husked, increasing the pressure.

“The chance of injury or drowning is significantly reduced.”

He chuckled. “Well you’re old now, you don’t want to risk breaking a hip.”

Misha mimicked his laugh before covering both Jensen’s hands, directing a change in tempo with one and lightly kneading under his balls with the other as he shifted and sighed. Jensen began to mouth along the line of his shoulder, nipping until he met the curl of hair behind his ear.

“Ah fuck this,” Misha said roughly, sitting up and causing a wave. He turned and pushed Jensen’s knees down to straddle his hips and rest low in his lap. Wrapping long fingers around each of their arousals he stroked them in sync, eyeing Jensen with a look of hard thirst that made his insides turn liquid and his brain feel like it had given up any last illusion of autonomy.

He groaned and let his head fall back, overwhelmed. “Fuck Mish, why— How do you do that to me,” he whispered plaintively, closing his eyes. “Why you?” He wasn’t sure what he was bemoaning exactly. More forthrightly acknowledging that he was completely lost. Or found, he conceded. Either way he had to stave off any sudden sexistential crisis (as Misha had delightedly named it, since it happened with embarrassing frequency) – he wanted to tend to Misha for a change.

“I could ask you the same thing,” his friend said timidly. The tone was unexpected enough it made him re-open his eyes and look up. Misha’s expression had shifted to something more bare and inquisitive, and Jensen darted his eyes between the dark ones shining in the candlelight above him, drawing him in.

Misha let them go and braced himself, inching down until his mouth hovered over Jensen’s, gaze a blend of intrusive and stripped. Jensen sustained the eye contact; he didn’t want to fold and set himself adrift like he normally would when the storm-front washed over him like this. Running his palms over Misha’s thighs he left one cupping his rear and glided the other up his side to slot it behind his neck, compelling his friend into an agonizing kiss full of brutal restraint.

After a few moments his friend began to soften, and at one push of Jensen’s tongue sighed a small noise into his mouth. He pulled him deeper, Misha tilting his hips forward to rock their genitals together, which had him yearning for friction. He dropped his hand to squeeze between them and secured their dicks, kneading Misha’s ass with the other. Content with letting arousal build on its own course he thrived on every sensation, his friend seeming atypically more urgent. He slid fingers up Misha’s spine, slow and soothing then reversed, dipping under the waterline into the cleft of his ass. Repeating the gesture his friend began to push against him whenever his fingers swam over his anus, and without thinking he pushed back.

Misha groaned at the pressure, abandoning the kiss. “More, please,” he asked in a coarse whisper. Jensen obliged, the water softening the resistance as he reached awkwardly so could broach the valve of muscle with a fingertip. After the slightest recoil his friend backed against the intrusion and launched back at his mouth. Invading further he let Misha control the movement, little low noises coming from the back of his throat.

“Jen,” he breathed after a minute.

“Yeah,” he whispered into his mouth.

Misha parted them, pillowing his forehead on the bridge of his nose. “Will you fuck me? Please.”

Jensen suddenly felt like he was treading very deep water. “You sure?” he asked back.

“Yeah, please. Yes, I need you to,” Misha pleaded.

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” he assured quietly. “It’s your birthday after all, so it’s your party,” he added, feigning a lighter tone.

Misha pulled back a little. “Damn fucking straight,” he grinned, no doubt due to the laughable irony in that exclamation.

The smile fell away quickly as Misha wiped a wet thumb across Jensen’s bottom lip. “I want you,” he said simply, dumping Jensen off another wave into the wash.

He swallowed. “How?” he croaked. Amusement flitted over his friend’s face, and Jensen thought he might get a sarcastic ‘insert point A into aperture B’ lecture, but it never came. Just a stare composed of assurances.

“Like this,” Misha eventually answered.

Jensen gave him a questioning look whilst contemplating physics and geometry. God he really did think too much sometimes. Misha must have caught him. “S’okay, I’m flexible.”

“You are huh?”

“Don’t be coy… though you’ve yet to witness all my talents,” Misha teased, flicking his brows before turning solemn again. He reached for the soap and held it for him to take. “I need to see you.”

Jensen nodded. His dick was a hundred percent on board with the idea but he was sifting through a variety of reactions. He’d done this before, but only rarely, and never with Misha. It launched him into a whole new ballpark of hesitant expectation and need.

He pulled his hand out from between them and took the small bar, reaching around with it to slide it between Misha’s cheeks. It was hardly ideal but Misha had suggested it. He searched down with his finger, curling to press inside - easier this time. His friend rasped a sigh and clumsily took them both in hand again.

He circled, working the opening. “Tell me what you want,” he said gently.

“Another,” Misha whispered, imploring eyes almost black. Jensen obliged with a short rub of soap, his middle finger broaching easily. The tight roll over his fingertips made his cock surge in anticipation; he wasn’t sure he wanted this but _fuck_ , right now he wanted this. His friend shifted and let out a soft moan before leaning down, nudging his nose and then latching his mouth to his in an oddly delicate kiss.

“Scoot down,” Misha suggested when he drew off him. Jensen shuffled his hips as the other man straddled him, until he was only neck high above the water and Misha was half kneeling and sitting over his abs. He wrapped a hand around his friend’s arousal, confidently bestowing long even strokes and letting him take his time.

Misha reached behind to him, jacking him roughly before lowering himself to the blunt tip and massaging it around his entrance. “Hmm you feel ready. You ready?” his friend asked, voice coarse.

Jensen nodded and stretched under his friend’s ass to replace his hand, holding himself in place. He was so damn hard now, unaffected by an impromptu flash of apprehension. He swabbed the relaxed pucker with his head until the aim felt just right, and Misha eased back. He had to work hard not to buck at the first protrusion, tight gorgeous heat sucking over the tip. He let his eyes fall shut and tried to keep a lid on the sensations until Misha was ready. After a pause his friend sat back further. “Fuck Mish,” he blurted squeezing his tension into Misha’s glutes with both hands. “That— you feel… fuck.”

Misha let out a huff. “Ditto,” he breathed, rocking several times before pushing further.

Jensen opened his eyes again and looked at his friend – lids shut and mouth parted in a soft ‘O’, controlled and rigid but with a serene calm; he was beautiful, Jensen decided right then. Having his cock buried inside him probably made him unduly biased, but even so the thought found him like a perfectly struck chord.

He rolled his hips, tentatively caving to the urge. Misha hummed a low moan. “You okay?” he asked.

“Mmm, you can move,” his friend mumbled back.

He didn’t need to be told twice, propelling upwards in short slow movements. It felt so fucking good – like there was nowhere else that could possibly feel better. He reached a little further with each thrust, tempering the impulse to just pump until he came as his friend loosened. “Dammit Mish, I’m not gonna last, you’re so fucking perfect,” he confessed after a minute or so, digging his nails into his hips.

The other man buried one hand in his hair and bowed to kiss him, tongue searing inside. “’S okay,” Misha whispered against his mouth, “this is all I need, you giving me everything.”

Jensen didn’t really know what he meant by that because he was sure it was the other way around, but shit if it didn’t make it harder to hold back. He hoisted his palms up along Misha’s back, skin searing and muscles taut. Still measured but driving harder he grasped one hand under his friend’s jaw and crashed their mouths together once more, not so much a kiss as breathing into him. He was going to lose it and he was beginning to not care.

He let Misha pull back a little and focused on his eyes, glassy and brittle. “Fuck,” his friend panted, breathing punctuated by soft grunts. He tightened his grip in Jensen’s hair, yanking hard. “Fuck, JenJenJen I fucking love you.”

A molten flood whipped through him - if anything was certain to send him over the edge that was it. “Shit—“ he uttered lamely by way of warning. He drove hard, orgasm igniting like oil through his veins. He heard echoes of himself make a collection of woefully sordid noises but he was far away, sealed in a void where he felt everything and nothing.

Once he’d settled he opened his eyes to Misha looking at him with a mixture of hunger and reverential warmth. “’m sorry,” he murmured, skimming his hands up Misha’s arms.

“Christ Jen,” his friend said roughly, scanning his face, “don’t ever be sorry for _that._ You are—“ He broke off, a fleeting frown pulling his brows together.

Jensen pulled in his bottom lip, unsure if he wanted to hear the rest of that sentence or not. He decided to change focus, and slipped a hand between them to grasp his friend’s length. “What do you want?” he invited, stroking hard.

Misha rose, just enough to gradually pull free from his softening cock, wincing slightly. “What have you got?” he asked back with a crooked weak smile, brushing his hands up Jensen’s chest and scraping thumbnails over his nipples, making him shiver.

He was covering something, Jensen could tell. “What’s wrong?” he probed gently.

For a split second he saw something unmasked - tender and exposed before it was swept away again. “Nothing,” Misha pronounced back. “Nothing’s at all wrong. Just— help me come.”

That he could do, and would do a hundred times over if he was asked. “Come ‘ere then,” he commanded, pulling on his friend’s erection and pressing into the small of his back to direct him closer. He followed it up with a demure look he knew invariably worked.

Misha sighed loudly in what Jensen took as consent and shuffled back to so he could pull onto his knees. “You’ll have to come here,” he returned, beckoning with a wave of the end of his dick.

Jensen thought about it for a second. “Stand up,” he instructed, pulling his legs from between Misha’s and lifting himself with a slosh of water to kneel, displacing enough air the candle flame flickered patterns across the tile.

His friend arched a brow but carefully obliged. “Now come the fuck here,” Jensen said in a flat growl.

Misha inched closer, arousal flush with Jensen’s chin. Taking it lightly he fisted down as he swiped his tongue over the engorged head, whirling it into his mouth in sucking kisses. Then holding the tip on his tongue, sunk his fingertips into the flesh of his friend’s ass and drew the length to the back of his throat in one slow motion.

“Holy fu—nngh“ Misha mouthed, sinking a wet hand in his hair again. Jensen increased the pressure and began repeating the movement, setting a gradual rhythm of release and suck, peppered with random flicks of his tongue under the glans and across the slit.

Looking up his friend appeared glazed and unsteady, so he increased the pace. Misha closed his eyes with a low moan and lifted an arm to brace himself on the rear wall, forcing Jensen to lean back. Fingers clutched behind his ear. “I nee… I need to—“ the other man said in a broken whine.

Jensen knew exactly where Misha was at and if he was going to get his face fucked he didn’t care. “Do it,” he croaked.

And Misha did, driving forward across his tongue to hit the back of his soft palate. He held steady and relaxed around the onslaught, though it was only several barely controlled thrusts before the Misha’s hips stilled and liquid spurted into his throat. He rocked him gently through it before swallowing and lapping him clean; he’d had to admit to Misha one day that he looked forward to it, as filthy as it had sounded at the time. Maybe it was all that fresh produce in his friend's diet, but he’d acquired a taste for Misha’s spunk. That might have also had something to do with the dirty gratification of earning it he acknowledged, and the fact any part of Misha was to be treasured.

Satisfied his friend was spent he released him. “You okay?” he asked gently after a moment, tracing lines up Misha’s thighs.

“Mmmph,” his friend returned, eyes still firmly shut. “I gotta sit down.”

Jensen waited until Misha had seated in somewhat ungainly fashion before issuing him a broad smile. He still looked shattered and Jensen secretly felt contented, until Misha’s eyes flashed him another one of those naked glances. It was fleeting, but it pulled and twisted inside him as he sat waiting for Misha to find his sea legs. They must have sat silent for five minutes casting an array of looks at each other – some almost shy. It started to get farcical.

“Let’s get out,” he finally proposed. “We need to cuddle and this water is getting cold.” He made it sound offhand, but on both counts it was the truth. Misha gave him a foggy grin. “See? How rampantly heterosexual is that huh?” he added, giving the other man a smug look.

Misha laughed silently, shaking his head. “You’re precious,” he declared with unabashed fondness.

“I’m also fucking starving. Get up,” he gestured with his head. Misha stood gingerly and left the bath, grabbing a towel for each of them and throwing one over Jensen’s head as he stepped out.

“Interesting, isn’t it,” Misha began in his ruminating tone. “Here we are replete in the height of civilization and yet what is it still all about?”

Jensen dried his arms and looked at him with the exasperated expression he saved for Misha when he was being incomprehensible.

“Food and fucking. We’re all still just slaves to biological imperatives,” his friend explained cheerfully.

Jensen scoffed, moving the towel across his shoulders and back. “’Slaves’ might be a bit strong. Can’t we say…I don’t know, ‘connoisseurs’ instead?”

“Hedonism might satiate biology but it doesn’t trump it,” Misha theorized.

“Okay, I’m too hungry to participate in this conversation,” he said dismissively.

“Q. E. D!”

Jensen shook his head. “Wait,” he said, stepping around the corner and shrugging on one of the aforementioned robes. He returned with the other and guided Misha into it, twisting the belt in front and using it to lead the other man through the suite. He pushed him to sit in the plush couch, retrieved the room service menu and laid it in his lap. “Decide by the time I get back,” he ordered, and went back to the bathroom long enough release the plug and blow out the candles.

“I like this you, it’s fun,” Misha observed with a smirk when he returned.

“Good. Now shuddup.” He unceremoniously nudged a strawberry into Misha’s mouth and whisked away the pages to make up his own mind, not that it really mattered what he chose at this point. He placed their order and came back to flop next to his friend who was sucking on the remainder of a pineapple slice.

“You can lay off that now you know,” he said. “You’re done for the day.” He patted Misha’s leg with peppy condescension.

“What, no round two?”

“I’m not sure your heart can take it, old man,” he blithely returned.

“Hmm, you might be right about that,” Misha said in an incongruously serious tone, looking across the room. It wrested another acute twinge from him.

Leaning forward, Jensen took the abandoned fruit out of Misha's hand and tossed it aside before turning to him, slicing a hand to the back of his neck and forcing his attention. Denim eyes sheepishly met his and he challenged them, taking a breath before dropping his eye-line to his friend’s lips. He followed with his mouth, leaving long soft kiss that tried to say everything he’d probably never get around to because he didn’t know all the words he needed and, to a lesser extent, his stomach was growling too vigorously.

“Me too,” is what he settled on, pulling away but holding Misha’s attention.

Misha exhaled loudly and scrunched his nose. “Mmm,” he acknowledged. Jensen gave him a tight smile as he fussed with the hair at his temple, then settled himself back, tugging on his friend’s shoulder to lean against him. He slid a hand inside Misha’s robe, cupping his ribs to tuck his friend against him.

He turned on the TV and they half-watched some documentary on the alarming lack of bees in the world, falling into an easy silence broken only by the knock of dinner arriving. Jensen devoured his and suggested, after Misha had slumped against him again, that given the hour and how early they would have to sneak out in the morning that they make for bed. He was also drained; not in any depleted way, quite the opposite in fact. He felt stilled – calm and weighted.

The feeling of bottomless freefall he often had when he and Misha hit an intense note had largely disappeared, though only recently. It still knocked him sideways occasionally, but not on a regular basis like it used to when he was left with no compass - adrift, bewildered, enchanted; scared it was all only temporary and petrified it would go on forever. And generally freaking-the-fuck-out as to what _it all meant –_ for who he was, should be, wanted to be, and _why_ the universe or god or whatever had chosen to renovate the nice, satisfying, tangible and increasingly well-furnished four walls of his life with a magical side room where he often forgot everything about himself.

What he’d learned was that everything really was better when he let go – letting go was a muscle he had to exercise and it was prone to cramping, but he’d toned it to the point where, at least where Misha was concerned he’d traded avoidance for acceptance, of every implication his love for Misha (and more critically Misha’s love for him) meant. Including that he probably would never know why somebody he wouldn’t have expected in a million years came from the horizon to worm their way into his existence so utterly as to become one of the pillars that held him up, even during the long absences from each other.

One consequence of letting go was he no longer felt alarmingly propelled along a course he had no map for. Another was that the person he allowed himself to be in that magical room had begun to follow him back out into his ‘real life’, which turned out to mean more to him (and remarkably, his wife) than he ever could have anticipated.

He gave his friend a nudge. “Did ya hear me?” he asked softy.

Misha finally mumbled his agreement against him, boneless and vague.

“You okay?” he asked cautiously.

“Mmm, just… take me to bed will you?”

“You’re such a slut,” he grinned, standing up and offering his hand.

“Lucky you’re such a gentleman then,” Misha responded, letting Jensen pull him up.

“Gentleman huh?” he disputed, grabbing the belt of Misha’s robe and pulling the knot tight with enough force his friend swayed before using the ends to lead him into the oversized bedroom. He didn’t bother with any lights, using only the gleaming reflections off the harbour to navigate the space. He pulled back the covers and stepped close to methodically release the tie then pushed Misha’s bathrobe from his shoulders. “Get in,” he finished softly, the other man complying without hesitation.

Moving to the other side he disrobed and sprawled next to his friend, holding out an arm in invitation to use his chest as a pillow. Misha looped an arm over his middle and curled into him making a small contented noise. After a few minutes of combing his fingers to smooth the hair over Misha’s ear, he decided to confess something.

“About the bath thing, I umm… I was jealous.”

“Ah huh!” Misha returned, sleepily amused.

“Not that you did it, I don’t give a shit about that.”

“Mmm, what then?”

“It was that you were such an assertive fuck while you did it,” he said wryly.

Misha was quiet for a moment. “Interesting…”

“Yeah, interesting,” Jensen mimicked, mocking and sulking unreasonably. He took a beat. “I suppose I… pick up on certain… cues, I guess. Ones I don’t necessarily want to share. Parts of you – I want them to be mine, not everyone’s.”

He could feel Misha smile against his skin, no doubt delighting in him volunteering just how ludicrous he’d been about it. “Oh, I’m definitely yours,” the other man assured finally, making him flush warm.

“’Don’t disappoint me’ – what the fuck was that about?” he asked, still making a show of obstinacy. It was expected of him, he figured.

Misha laughed shrewdly and rolled onto his back beside him. “Well _that_ was obviously for you.”

Oddly that confirmation made Jensen feel better. He rolled to straddle his companion, crawling down is frame to press his lips to the baby-soft skin high on his friend’s thighs, intending to go on to visit all his favorite parts of Misha with his mouth. Which had _nothing_ to do with making his own assertions.

“I notice you have yet to comply,” Misha mused, fingering into his hair as Jensen kissed over his hipbones.

“What,” he murmured, licking the circumference of his belly-button, “you think I take orders from you?”

“Well, I’d never _presume_ –“

“You wouldn’t?” he asked, raising his head.

“Of course not,” Misha replied, gently serious. “ _Anything_ you do – for me, with me, because of me, is a gift.”

Jensen considered the full meaning of that admission while he sought Misha’s eyes in the dark. “Even earlier?” he quizzed.

“Definitely that.”

That surprised him– he was the one who felt like he’d been given a gift, not least because it was rare to see Misha so pared back. He was, usually, open and candid, and overwhelmingly astute. But he was seldom vulnerable. He realized it made him echo that vulnerability in a way that felt natural, rather than as a wound he wanted to cauterise.

“It was,” Misha continued generously, “quite possibly the best bath I’ve had.”

“I should hope so,” he smiled, ducking his head and mouthing up to Misha’s nipples, pinching each between his lips and flicking them playfully with his tongue, his companion squirming a little. They were undeniably the cutest ones he’d ever seen and he liked addressing them as such.

“Now who’s got the big head?” the other man asked.

He walked his hands over Misha’s shoulders and hung above his face.

“I guess we’re a matching pair then,” he winked.

“I would’ve said more ‘odd couple’.”

“Odd? Speak for yourself.”

“I invariably do,” Misha returned with fatigued cheer.

“Mish, shut the hell up,” he ordered, deciding to leave no room for rebuttal by sinking down laying claim to his friend’s mouth, licking his way in and barging against his tongue. It began as insistent but somewhere between Misha sucking on his bottom lip and thumbing the planes of his cheeks it turned tender to the point of aching. With a sigh that teetered on a mewl he pulled away while he still had the ability to cast internal scorn on whatever it was about himself that could turn him onto a needy ragged mess at the drop of a hat.

He backed down again, just far enough that he could bow to press first his forehead then his cheek to nestle on Misha’s chest. One of his friend’s hands caressed over his scalp and neck and he calmed, until it occurred to him how much he loved lying like this in reverse with his daughter as a newborn or even now when she was worn out, and that sometimes he really was just a big fucking baby.

Lifting himself he walked back to sit on his haunches over Misha’s shins and turned a thought over in his mind.

“You okay?” his friend asked.

“Mmm. Can I say something?”

“Ah-huh,” Misha answered uncertainly.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Just, whatever happens in the future, I want you to know, thank you, for everything.”

His companion was still for a moment before bolting upright, tucking his feet to sit cross-legged in front of him. “Is everything okay? You didn’t bring me here to— Jen, what are you saying?”

The panicked edge in his tone alerted Jensen to how maybe his little speech could have been misinterpreted. He smiled, mostly out of remorse. “That’s all I meant. That I’m grateful, for everything, for _you_. Dummy.”

Misha groaned and flopped forward, bunting the top of his head against his chest. “Thank _fuck._ I thought for a second— you sounded… Nevermind,” he whined.

This time Jensen was the one to stroke a soothing hand over his friend’s head and down between his shoulder-blades. “You thought I’d do this just to tell you I didn’t want to do this anymore?” he asked, encouraging the amusement seeping into his voice. “I’m kinda offended. For one thing, that would be one shitty birthday present.”

Misha lifted his head and looked him in the eye while twisting one cheek. “Sorry, I’m tired, and… wrung out I guess. Don’t mind me.”

Jensen found his hands, flattening his palms against them to force them in the air before knotting their fingers. “You know for the guy in the room who’s the genius, sometimes you’re an idiot. If you don’t know by now—“ He left the rest unspoken, not trusting anything he could say not to come off sounding twee at this point.

His friend gave him an effacing smile, which he returned with a warm-hearted one. “I’m not in the habit of taking anything for granted, that’s all,” Misha eventually said, muted.

He nodded gently in return, understanding the deeper meaning. “Come on,” he said after a moment, rearing up. “Let’s get you to sleep, old man.” He tipped forward to wrestle Misha backwards, both of them landing against the pillows free of potentially damaging elbows and headbutts. He rolled to his back and his friend followed him, burrowing into his side and tangling their feet while erupting into a protracted sigh.

Jensen's mouth twitched as he searched into the darkness. He traced nails over the arm bundled across his stomach, brimming and anchored. It was a reassuring feeling, not worrying about the future because you’d made peace with the present - a bit like giving in to a riptide. It was an unfamiliar philosophical shift, but it allowed him to really see where he was.

“Mish?” he prompted, before his companion drifted off.

“Mmm.”

“I meant it, thank you,” he said, just above a whisper.

“Mmmph,” was the only acknowledgement, vibrating against his pectoral.

“And Misha?” he added.

“Mmm?”

“Happy Birthday.”

 

***FIN***


End file.
